


On The Branches

by CameronBaums (einherjars)



Series: On The Branches [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-13 21:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/einherjars/pseuds/CameronBaums
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Please read the notes.</p>
<p>I'm crap at summaries here's an excerpt from a potential future chapter:</p>
<p>  <i>“You need me to kill someone for you?”</i></p>
<p>  <i>“Killing might not be necessary, as much as a few of us would like that,” Fury said, and Barton’s expression darkened. Fury tossed the thick file he’d been holding onto the table and toward Alpha.</i></p>
<p>  <i>She sat up, returning her boots to the floor and pulled the file to her. </i>Finally, we’re getting somewhere.<i> “And if I refuse to be of service?” she asked, her hand poised to open the file.</i></p>
<p>  <i>“Well, we can hardly hold you,” Fury replied.</i></p>
<p><i>“Just so,” Alpha said, flipped the cover open, and scanned the first page. </i>“Loki Laufeyson."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. accounts

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of a cross-over fic of Marvel movie!verse and Harry Potter but please understand: there are no actual Harry Potter characters within the text. I tried to create an original character in two worlds that already have been written. Everything in both 'verses is canon; all events in Harry Potter remain the same and what I have written is tacked on after the events in the series, and what I have written in regards to Loki is tacked on at the end of Avengers (2012) and I am ignoring basically anything that happens in Thor 2. This first chapter is really just setting up who is who.
> 
> Also this is basically un beta'd??? I had a friend read through it and point out errors and try to help along, and I've probably read it all a tens of times, constantly editing.
> 
> I also cannot say if I'm going to be for sure posting all of the work; I stopped writing it about three months ago because I have no idea where I am going with it. Any and all thoughts are welcome, and I would _love_ feedback.

A trial was held the same evening Thor brought his brother home. Odin looked upon his adoptive son with disappointment – _in whom? In me or in himself?_ – and Frigga’s features sagged with grief. The Lady Sif chewed her lip throughout the hearing, and all of the Warriors Three kept their eyes away from the accused.

Loki’s eyes were very, very blue.

_____________________________________

Of course, Thor was the first to visit. He wore his usual leathers, but the smile he used to give his brother was replaced with a sad frown. It had only been one full day since the trial. Loki had been stripped of his magic and shoved into rough-spun trousers and tunic. His hair had been poorly sheared to just below the hairline on the nape of his neck, and the muzzle fastened securely about his sneering mouth. During this visit, Thor said, “You know you deserve this, brother. Truly.”

His eyes were bluer than his false brother’s.

_____________________________________

Thor begged his father to remove the muzzle. He claimed the contraption made it difficult for Loki to breathe properly (it did not), especially when sleeping – which he spent the majority of his time doing. Frigga’s eyes pleaded for her husband to comply. By the end of the first week of Loki’s imprisonment, the muzzle was removed, but a vile concoction was forced down his throat. When he vomited it back up, he was beaten until he agreed to drink another serving and keep it down. The blood dripping from his nose stained his tunic.

When he woke again the next morning, Loki’s voice was gone and his eyes were a dimmer shade of blue.

_____________________________________

Throughout the first month since having the muzzle removed, Loki had a few regular visitors. 

Thor visited every day. During the evening hour, usually when Loki took his last meal of the day, – _if you could call that a meal_ – Thor would talk to his brother – _adoptive brother_ – about the day’s events.  Mostly, there were talks of repairing the bifröst and the redundancies of sitting court, with anecdotes of the training fields, Sif, and the Warriors Three. Loki would spend this hour glaring at Thor, and whenever Thor’s eyes came across his brother’s face, the God of Thunder would wince but carry on. There was a period of time the Thunderer was not visiting his adoptive brother, and Loki summed that he must be on Midgard, repairing damage and helping out his new little circle of comrades. Immediately after coming to this summation, Loki rolled his eyes and wondered why he felt the need to ponder Thor’s whereabouts.

Odin’s visits were rare, and he did not stay long. The first visit after the beatings, Odin called Loki, “My son,” and in response, Loki grinned maniacally as if in silent, mocking laughter. At the end of each silent visit, Odin would simply say, “I am sorry,” and take his leave. The first time he uttered these words – on his second visit after the beating – Loki threw his water cup and plate against the bars. He stood and tore the sheets off the sleeping palette, tore into the lumpy pillow and sent its feathery contents flying, and ripped his tunic off his back and into pieces. Odin watched his adopted son throughout the tantrum with remorse in his eyes – _but it’s too late for apologies, Allfather_ – and left quietly as Loki stood, glaring. The same evening, Loki’s bedding and tunic were replaced, and his cell was cleared of feathers. If Loki had a voice, he would have laughed.

Sif brought him his midday meal a few times a week. The first time, she did not sit down. She stood, feet shoulder-width apart, chewing her lip and staring at Loki through the bars, silently studying his healing cuts and bruises while he ate. Occasionally, Loki wondered if she learned how to be silent and would glance up to see if she was still there. When he set his empty water cup down and saw her eyes on him, he stared right back at her. “We were friends,” she said, finally. “We were friends, and you convinced yourself that I hated you.” She paused before continuing, “There were times I felt closer to you than I did to Thor or Fandral or Hogun or Volstagg. And after everything – everything you did to banish Thor, and when you were king, and everything you did to Midgard – I still care about you and I _hate_ that I still care about you. I hate that we _all_ still care about you.” Loki looked to his hands in his lap, and he did not look back up until she had stomped her way up the stairs

When Frigga visited a few days after Loki’s tantrum, Loki could not bring himself to look at her. He wanted to glare at her, and if he had a voice, he wanted to scream obscenities at her for, once again, choosing Thor over him – _of course she chose Thor over me, I am naught but a Jotun_ – but the idea of screaming at this woman he had called _mother_ in all his years made him turn away from her, ashamed of his thoughts. “Loki,” she said to him, when he rolled on his side and put his back to her, “I love you, my son, and I know that we can get through this.” He shivered – _it feels like Jotunheim in this cell –_ and pulled the blanket over him. “Yes,” she said, “Of course you must be tired. I’ll let you rest,” and as she stood from the bench, he heard the movements of the skirts he clung to as a child – _mother_ – and Loki rolled onto his back to watch her ascend the stairs and leave him. His eyes watered.

By the end of the month, Loki’s eyes were more gray than blue. 

_______________________________________

 

The first time Alpha Blackwood had apparated, she was nine, and she did not do so on purpose. She went from the sitting room of her parent’s house to a small lake a few miles away from her home, just before a boy much younger than she fell off a rock and into the water. His father slept under a tree twenty yards away, so Alpha kicked her shoes off and went after the boy. When she pulled him out and pressed his chest hard enough, the water spurted from his mouth and he coughed. “Wake your daddy and tell him you fell in, and now you want to go home.” The boy nodded, crying. He stood and stumbled away from Alpha, toward his still slumbering father. Alpha disapparated home in time to change into dry clothes before lunch.

Two years later, Alpha was accepted into Salem’s school of witchcraft. 

_____________________________________

 

When she was leaving intentionally, it was one quick yank around her middle, and she could see exactly where she’d land. The rest of the time, Alpha would describe the feeling as if she were being lightly tugged around her waist – as if to be a warning – until that gentle tug turned into a very hard _push,_ while simultaneously being blindfolded. She’d learned over time how to land solidly, even when she didn’t know where she’d end up; it was almost as if her body knew where she needed to be, and if she resisted, she’d pay for it by being splinched. Nothing serious, of course, for once that strong pull had happened, Alpha allowed herself to be taken. She also learned to carry a small bottle of _Essence of Dittany_ as a precaution.

Alpha’s first splinch wound gave her a small scar on her left shoulder-blade, in what appeared to be some sort of ancient rune or symbol.

______________________________________

 

Over the years, Alpha became less and less good-natured. She hated the non-magic folk for their inability to see truth in the world, and she hated the magical community for believing themselves better than non-magic folk. By the age of fifteen, she was practicing advanced magic beyond her years, delving into some of her father’s dusty spell books he had attempted to lock away. The summer of her sixteenth year, and the eighteenth time Alpha apparated unintentionally, she came across two boys brutally beating a third, who, by the time she arrived, was bleeding from multiple wounds and no longer struggling against the blows. Alpha did not hesitate as she aimed her wand at the two aggressors and muttered the words, “ _Avada kedavra._ ”

Her irises were obsidian.

______________________________________

 

She was not _evil_ , but she wasn’t exactly _good_ , either. She rejected her parents’ dark past, but rejected the idea of being light or pure. Her frequent unintended apparations brought her all over the US, the UK, and most of Western Europe; she jokingly wondered if she’d ever reach a distant planet. By the age of eighteen, she had killed at least a dozen people – she never counted, but she knew the number was high – and she felt minimal remorse. Alpha didn’t _enjoy_ killing people; she just felt it was the right thing to do in those situations – as if these people deserved it.

  _I’ve always liked gray_ , she thought to herself.

______________________________________

 

When Alpha finally read all of the books in her father’s study – including the ones pertaining to the dark arts locked in his desk – she spent time in the school library’s restricted section. Alpha lived and breathed magical knowledge, especially of the dark arts. She told herself it was for defense purposes, but she found herself using certain small spells each time her body pulled her away. Alpha also slowly but surely created a collection of potions, ranging in medical use, to truth and luck and even death. She kept them all in small vials, labeled in her slanted cursive. Her classmates referred to her as _Hermione Granger_ , but Alpha didn’t like that. Hermione Granger was not gray.

Her father, dressed in his usual black robes, praised her work. No smiles accompanied his straight back, hands clasped behind him, as he said the usual, “Good work, my daughter.” There was always a glimmer in his dark gray eyes, and Alpha knew what he’d be thinking: _she is like us._ Alpha would describe the Blackwood moral code – excluding herself, of course – as _black_ pretending _to be white_. Mister Blackwood liked to say his family traced back to Salazaar Slytherin, but Alpha had found no evidence of such lineage. Instead, she had an inkling she may be related to the Peverells, but she had yet to come across conclusive evidence – there were too many dead ends.

Regardless, Alpha wore their symbol on a silver chain around her neck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part II. Totally ignored what Loki's cell looks like in Thor 2, mainly because the trailer hadn't come out yet when I wrote this.
> 
> Any feedback is welcome. Thanks for reading!

_____________________________________

 

Again, Sif sat with Loki in silence. “Are you here with something more to say, my Lady Sif, or are you here to stare at the animal locked in his cage?” 

_____________________________________

 

He had been locked away for nearly five months – _was that all?_ – before the Allfather decided it was time for Loki to speak again. He was woken early in the morn, by a handful of guards as Odin stood outside the cell and watched as Loki was force fed yet another concoction. This time, in an effort to save himself from being beaten again, did not vomit, but instead expelled hacking coughs and spat thick mucus onto the floor. It wasn’t until he groaned from the sudden scratchy dryness of his throat that he realized his voice had been returned. At this discovery, he decided he didn’t wish to speak to Odin, despite the fact he had prepared a long speech containing demeaning phrases and vicious thoughts. “Loki,” Odin had said, when his adoptive son had fallen silent. Loki gulped his water, tossed the empty cup to the ground, and lay down upon his sleeping palette, closing his eyes. _As if giving me my voice back were some sort of great favor_.

When Sif visited bearing his midday meal, she said, “I have been informed your voice has been returned.” Instead of replying, Loki merely looked at her with a bored expression. She sighed as she sat down and rubbed her temples with the heel of her hand. “So you will not speak, now that you can?” Loki chewed his meal slowly. She sighed again, her exhale a huff of agitation. _As if visiting me is some sort of favor_.

The Thunderer greeted Loki merrily upon his entrance. “I have heard the news, brother,” Thor said, his voice booming into the cell. His grin filled his face and his eyes sparkled. When Loki merely pursed his lips and looked away, Thor’s smile faded. “Why do you not speak, brother? You have always been so gifted with words.” When Loki did not respond, Thor sat upon the bench and began telling Loki of his day, as if he had been asked. Loki examined his fingernails and started picking dirt our from under them. Near the end of the hour, Thor stopped talking and stared at his brother, sadly. Loki looked up, startled that Thor had finally _shut up,_ and Thor took that as his cue to ask, “How have you been, Loki? Answer me truly.” Loki stared at him, with a blank expression – _how do think,_ Odinson _?_ – and looked back at his hands. “If you will not speak, brother, I shall leave.” When Loki remained silent, Thor closed his eyes, shook his head, and left the dungeons. _As if gracing me with his presence was some sort of great favor_.

It was different when Frigga entered the next day. “Mother,” Loki said immediately, standing.

           She smiled at him and said, “My son.”

           “Mother,” he said again, walking to the bars. “I–”

           Frigga reached through the bars and put a hand on her son’s cheek, stilling his words. “It is good to hear your voice again, Loki.”

           “Who – Who requested it? Did you?” His throat felt hoarse as he spoke.

           “No,” Frigga said, smiling, “Your father made the decision upon his own accord. He wishes to share words with you.”

Loki took a step back, and Frigga stepped away to perch upon the bench. “I do not wish to speak to _Odin_ ,” he told her, agitation in his voice clear.

           “He loves you, Loki,” she replied softly.

           A mirthless laugh pushed from his chest and he shook his head. “Yes, he _loves_ me, like Asgard loves Jotunheim.” Loki thought of his true parentage and laughed again, a hollow sound emanating from the back of his throat. “I am not his _son_ ; I’m his _ward_.” 

Before she left, Frigga beckoned her son to the bars again. She reached through and placed her hands on his shoulders, smiling sadly and said, “I love you, my son, and I am sorry it has come to this.” A silent moment passed as she touched his hair; it needed to be cut again. 

If Loki ever said he didn’t love Frigga, he’d be lying to himself.

____________________________________

 

Sif’s smile did not reach her eyes. “I thought you weren’t speaking to anyone but Frigga,” she replied. “If you were going to sit in silence, I thought, what better way to get you to talk than to not talk to you?”

Loki pursed his lips and looked away.

            “Silence again, then?” she asked, leaning forward, propping her chin up with her hand.

           He sat in silence a moment more and breathed deeply. “You know, I loved you once,” he admitted finally, – _to himself or her?_ – looking to his hands as he picked at his fingernails again.

           “You had a funny way of showing it, then,” she said.

           Loki smirked. “You wouldn’t have noticed anyway, with you chasing after _Thor_ , and dismissing anything that was not him or some sort of _blade_.”

            “I am so _sorry_ I didn’t fall in love with Mischief,” Sif replied, sarcasm dripping from her words.

            “And I am so sorry I fell in love with War.” His tone held no humor or lies, and he kept his eyes on his hands.

            Sif remained quiet for a moment and finally asked, “And now?”

            This time, Loki truly laughed. “No, Sif, I do not love you anymore. I love you less than I love Odin.”

            “So you must still love me quite, for you still hold much for the Allfather.”

            Loki’s eyes snapped to hers and he stood, towering. “ _Love_ for _Odin_? Did Thor manage to hit you upside the head with Mjölnir during a sparring session or are you just naturally this brainless?”

            “I wouldn’t call it _brainless_ ,” Sif replied, coolly, crossing her arms.

            He sneered, “No? Then what would you call it?” _Dim-witted, stupid, dense, foolish, and oh so very_ wrong – _she_ was _wrong, wasn’t she? –_

            She stood, feet shoulder width apart, uncrossed her arms and said, “Observant. Truthful. But you wouldn’t know anything about being _honest_ , would you _Loki Liarsmith_? You lie so much, you can no longer see the truth in all of Yggdrasil or even in yourself.” She turned and left, the sound of her boots heavy on the floor.

Loki stared at where she had stood for some time before laying on his palette and willing himself to sleep.

Today, his eyes were clear gray.

_____________________________________

 

Much to Mister and Misses Blackwood’s pureblooded dismay, their daughter became transfixed with all things non-magic. Alpha began going to a local non-magic library and delving into their histories, Greek and Norse mythologies, the rise and fall of ancient civilizations, their arts of war, and their belief in magic. She wondered why they ever stopped believing.

The first time Alpha was caught practicing throwing knives, her father scolded her, telling his daughter, “People like us have no need for such _muggle nonsense._ ” He confiscated her knives and locked them in his desk. Naturally, Alpha recovered them and learned to practice more inconspicuously.

When her parents finally sat her down to discuss her newfound interest in muggles, Alpha merely shrugged her shoulders and told them what they wanted to hear: “I hold no love for them.”

For it was the truth; Alpha loved them not.

_____________________________________

 

Throughout the span of two years, Alpha did not go home. Her adventures led her across the world and back again, performing deeds that could be called _good_ and some that could be classified as, well, _not_.

During a brief, unintended trip to New York, Alpha was tracked down. She had arrived to the city wondering where her next target could be, and what sort of mission it was this time. She had just spent a year in England, carrying out various missions for their Minister of Magic, bringing foes from the Dark times to justice. Alpha wondered if her visit to New York would include any of that sort, or if it was back to killing sewer rats.

It was when she had this thought, on the sidewalk beside Central Park, a black vehicle pulled up to the curb. A man in a pressed black suit, followed by a red-haired women emerged from the vehicle. “My name is Agent Coulson,” the man said to Alpha, “And this is my colleague, Agent Romanov. We need you to come with us.”

Alpha laughed.

_____________________________________


End file.
